


as our intentions unfurl

by anarchetypal



Category: Buzzfeed - Fandom
Genre: Guns, Heist AU, M/M, background christian/eric/aria/fernando, christian is bad at emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 13:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15365997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchetypal/pseuds/anarchetypal
Summary: Eric, sounding faintly worried, says, “So, my instinct is that laughter is good? But my other instinct is, like, maybe I did irreversible damage to your psyche and you are not okay.”Christian attempts to respond, snorts inelegantly, and just covers his face with a breathless squeak of a laugh that dissolves into silent half-hiccups.Eric doesn’t look any less concerned. “Aria’s gonna bereallymad if you just straight-up lost your whole mind because I helped you get in touch with your emotions for all of five seconds.”





	as our intentions unfurl

**Author's Note:**

> i am sailing the FUCK out of this tiny ship

They're sixty miles from the Oregon state line when Eric announces, “I'm  _ starving _ .”

Christian doesn't answer, because he's been entirely aware of Eric's hunger status since the moment they hit 95 with their half million con haul, the Bugatti's tires screaming satisfactorily northbound— 

Three  _ very _ long hours ago. 

They'd only just boosted the car during their escape, so it hasn't had time to accumulate the usual stash of candy bars and snack cakes hidden in the nooks and crannies of every vehicle Eric’s ever had access to longer than a day and a half.

This hasn't stopped Eric from looking, though, reflexive fingers searching and scraping along the rough fabric of the glove box lining at least five times since they’ve been on the road. That observation coupled with the fact that Eric’s hungry whenever he's conscious enough to be aware of his own stomach—to say nothing of an oral fixation intense enough to put Freud to shame—means, yeah,  _ starving _ , Christian knows.

But he keeps his mouth resolutely shut and his hands unmoving on the steering wheel because goddamn if Eric's snack lust doesn't have shit-awful timing.

Meaning: they got the money but the job went anything but smooth towards the end, and they're lucky they haven't had any cop cars on their asses yet. Aria and Fernando, miles away on a separate route upstate, are going to meet up with them at a safe location Aria secured in Oregon. The two of them got away clean and quick and more or less according to plan shortly before he and Eric did, no snags to speak of. 

Still, Christian eyes the burner phone sitting up on the car dash, hoping it doesn’t ring but prepared to grab it if it does. 

Aria had called shortly after they had some distance from the worst of the heat, a quick check-in before everybody went radio silent until meeting back up at the safehouse.

“Keep your heads down,” Fernando had cautioned. “Stay off the phones, too, just for now, just in case.”

“Unless there’s an emergency,” Aria had added, knowing as well as Christian that the danger wasn’t over yet. 

The four of them as a team have nearly a dozen jobs underneath their belts now, petty to high-stakes, painstakingly planned to on-a-whim and reckless enough that Christian’s probably in danger of greying early. Rough as the tail end of this heist went, they’ve dealt with worse. 

An emergency is unlikely at this stage, but Christian tends to hope for the best and plan for the worst, so he keeps that phone in arm’s reach.

Eric, meanwhile, lets the silence stretch on for a surprising few miles before he sighs theatrically and shifts. “Can't we just stop for fast food?”

“We just stole five hundred grand and a sports car.”

“Can't eat car parts, Christian."

“Funny, you didn't have that attitude—”

“That time in Colorado—”

“—when I was repairing that shitty Cadillac,” Christian remembers, “and trying to make you stay inside and out of my way because—”

“—I was  _ delirious _ with a  _ fever _ , Christian,” Eric says haughtily, “which you said you’d never bring up again; I wasn’t in my right mind, so—”

“—you grabbed a bag of washers and bolts instead of the trail mix I  _ told _ you not to leave on the workbench, you have no excuse; you almost choked to death trying to eat a car part, so don’t say—”

“—it  _ doesn't count _ ,” Eric finishes with a defensive whine, but he's grinning. “Anybody could’ve made that mistake.”

Christian shakes his head but drops it, still too keyed up over what they just went through to really argue over something that happened ages ago.  They manage to make it a little farther along the highway in silence while Christian alternates watching the road ahead and searching the rearview mirror for flashing police lights. 

He supposes his post-job paranoia is about as bad as Eric's chronic oral fixation.

Of course, it's about then that Eric sinks down in the passenger seat with another sigh heavy enough to rival those of the most rebellious teenagers, and Christian decides that Eric is  _ far  _ more of a pain in the ass. No contest.

“We're not stopping,” he says before Eric can speak. He doesn't need to glance over to know Eric's sulking. “We're in a stolen vehicle. A  _ really conspicuous  _ stolen vehicle.”

“Yeah, and there's some  _ really conspicuous _ money in the backseat, I know— I’ve been here the whole time. I’m all caught up with The Current Situation, which appears to be ‘driving away from a successful heist.’ Success we should be celebrating. With food.” Eric looks satisfied with his counterargument.

“Isn't successful until we actually get away with it,” Christian points out.

Less satisfied now. “You could at least  _ try _ to be happy we got out of there unscathed.” Brow furrowed in annoyance, Eric reaches over and pokes at Christian’s face, trying to push his cheek upwards. “Smile, maybe? You remember how to smile, right? That thing you do with your mouth that’s the opposite of—yeah, frowning. The exact opposite of what you’re doing right now. Do that but upside down.”

Christian smacks Eric’s hand away and keeps his eyes resolutely on the road in front of them. Doesn’t, for the record, turn his frown upside down. If anything, it’s gotten more pronounced. “You almost  _ didn’t _ make it out unscathed,” he reminds Eric flatly. 

He’s been trying not to think about it, struggling to keep residual spikes of fear from overwhelming him.

It’s all a flashing series of snapshot memories now: 

Alarms, going off far earlier than anyone anticipated, their blare near-deafening as Christian scrambled to finish stuffing money in stiff duffel bags.

Eric, touching his shoulder, receiving a nod, and running ahead to plan out a path of least resistance to the nearest exit. 

A zipper, catching and refusing to slide farther, Christian yanking at it distractedly as he slung the other bag over his shoulder by its strap and hastened to catch up with Eric at the end of the hall.

Some part of his mind, first fighting through panic to recall Aria’s contingency plan that Fernando drilled over and over, then getting distracted with worry for the both of them, agonizingly out of reach on the other side of the building.

And then Eric again, this time rounding the corner in search of an emergency exit, instead meeting the black hole barrel of a gun.

It was only the miracle of the gun jamming when its trigger was squeezed that gave Eric the split second he needed to react and disarm the guard holding the gun.  

For just a moment, with Christian too far away to do anything but watch, Eric’s whole fucking life was held in a cradle of odds against his favor, carried out by mechanisms within a faulty gun. 

All over, what, some dirty money they didn’t even  _ need? _

So, no, Christian can’t say he’s feeling particularly  _ smiley _ right now.

"I’m serious, Eric,” he says, and it’s taking all his effort to keep his voice even. “That was— That was really—”

"I know, I  _ know _ , I’m sorry. It freaked you out, I get it. Freaked me out, too. But it’s  _ over _ . All’s well that ends well, right?” Eric, hopeful, smiles at him.

But Christian's tense all over now, jaw locked, frustrated because Eric doesn’t seem to fucking  _ understand _ . He’s always had an ‘invincible youth’ sort of attitude—and he’s young, Christian knows, and people in their business by definition don’t have the strongest sense of self-preservation. It’s the nature of the game.

But he doesn’t think he can take another second of this lighthearted, laugh-it-off bullshit when his mind can’t stop replaying the memory of that gun pointed with heavy finality at Eric’s shocked, terrified face.

There must be something telling in his expression, because Eric drops the smile. “Whoa, hey, c’mon. Relax. It turned out fine, right? That’s what matters,” he says, tone gentled down to ‘soothing’ and held there. “It turned out okay.” 

And Christian knows Eric’s waiting for him to present the familiar, slow rise and fall of his shoulders, body language a peace offering that shows he's taking full breaths, relaxing by degrees.

Christian doesn’t give it to him. 

Another lingering wave of fear rises and he seizes it from inside himself in a chokehold. He turns it into frustration, anger, into something that makes sense—something he can  _ use _ , can wield instead of crumple into. Anything other than the panic that so easily threaten to break him. 

“It turned out okay?” he repeats with an incredulous laugh. “ _ Barely _ . You were saved by a malfunctioning fire pin!” 

But Eric’s never known when to quit. “I'm  _ okay, _ " he says, stubborn as ever, spreading his arms as much as he can in the confines of the car. "Look at me! I'm fine. I got out.”

“You got  _ lucky! _ ” Christian snaps. 

Eric can’t hide a full-bodied flicker of hurt, and the roiling of Christian’s anger settles to a simmer almost instantly in response.

There’s a long, long silence, just the hum of tires on the asphalt beneath them as the state line crawls nearer.

"I’m sorry," Eric finally says again, quieter, not quite at his ‘kicked puppy’ tone but pretty damn close.

Aw, fuck.

Guiltily, Christian pulls his gaze from the road long enough to see how Eric's staring out the passenger side window, subdued. Energetic Eric celebrating too loud and too soon after a heist is always a little exasperating.

This? Is much worse.

“...Look,” Christian murmurs into another stretch of silence. “I’m not—pissed at you or anything. Alright? What happened wasn’t your fault, I’m not angry, I’m not disappointed in you. I’m scared.”

Eric turns to look at him, brows raised only slightly.

Christian shrugs in response and focuses back on the road. “I thought— Eric, I thought you were gonna die back there. I was convinced I about to  _ watch you die, _ and there wasn’t  _ anything _ I could do about it, and it scared the shit out of me, and I’m  _ still _ scared. And I’m gonna be honest, I have no goddamn idea how to handle it.”

There’s no response from the passenger seat. The fear threatens to choke him and he swallows against it, hating how this caring has crippled his ability to stay impartial, to crush down emotion in favor of rationality. 

This line of business had always been about the money, or the power, or the adrenaline or experiences or connections. Simple. Straightforward. Christian was  _ perfectly content _ with the status quo, thank you very much.

Except then at some point everything became about the sulking kid in the passenger seat of this stolen sports car, and the two guys he’s desperately hoping won’t call as they race to meet him at a location he labels ‘safe’ in his mind only because they’ll all be there together.

It’s— To be completely frank, it’s some real bullshit. He didn’t sign up for this. This wasn’t in the job description. There aren’t contingency plans for having emotions and there’s no script to follow when you’re not talking for a con. Silence is so much louder when you care about the person you wish was filling it.

“I thought it’d be...easier. To be angry about it instead of scared?” is what he settles on with uncharacteristic uncertainty, words quiet as they escape him riding the coattails of a sigh. It’s not exactly what he means, though he wouldn’t blame Eric for not wanting to hear what he has to say at this point regardless.

But Eric’s got a habit of surprising him.

“Why’s that?” he replies at last, open curiosity in his expression and no judgement in his tone. Christian feels a heavy burst of relief in the center of himself, like he crashed their stolen car at top speed and on impact took an airbag made of dizzying light to the chest.

Emotions are  _ exhausting _ .

It takes a few moments for Christian to muddle through what he’s thinking, and he winces at the conclusion he comes to. “I think answering that is gonna make me sound like an asshole.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna be honest, you were already sounding like an asshole, so you don’t really have much to lose here?” Eric replies, but he’s grinning when Christian cuts him a startled look.

“That’s… Okay, yeah, that’s fair,” Christian admits. He gives the burner phone on the dash an automatic glance without immediately realizing it, then sighs. He’s hopeless. Might as well get this over with. “It’s not like I  _ never _ get scared. If a job goes to hell and I’m stuck in the middle of it with no obvious way out, or I get seriously injured and don’t have anything to patch myself up with, or whatever, that’ll make me plenty antsy. That’s normal.”

“Sure,” Eric agrees.

“But you having that gun pointed inches from your face? Not knowing where Aria and Fernando were when the alarms went off? Not knowing how they’re doing even  _ now? _ All that terrifies me, which means I actually, uh. Care about you guys, a lot? And worry about you? All the goddamn time, actually? And that’s—” He gestures vaguely, starting to speak faster in mild embarrassment. “Not to sound like a dick, but that’s, uh. Fundamentally detrimental for me with what I do for a living?”

Eric is giving him the kind of look  _ he _ usually gives  _ Eric _ , but with the amusement cranked up a lot higher. “Just kind of a general inconvenience,” he supplies agreeably.

Christian squints. “Are you mocking me?”

Eric raises his hands in surrender. “Me? No! I’m with you. Caring about people is a huge pain in the ass. Tell me, how did suppressing it work out for you?”

“You’re mocking me.”

“I can tell you how it worked out for  _ me _ ,” Eric continues blithely. “I was like, ‘Hey, brain, I’d like to unsubscribe from intimacy-related feelings,’ and my brain was like, ‘Did you say you wanted to have an existential crisis about the guys you work with?’ and I said, ‘Hm, no, I definitely did not say that, in fact I would like to avoid having an existential crisis about the guys I work with,’ and then I had one anyway.” 

Christian is staring at him.

“What I’m saying is, in my experience, you get like zero choice about the whole thing.”

That’s a lot to unpack. Particularly the concept that Eric’s been navigating his own bullshit about the team and Christian’s been virtually oblivious.

For now, though: “So what did you...do about it?” 

Eric shrugs. “Same thing I do when it’s three in the morning and you or Aria finally force me to crash for a few hours, ‘no negotiations, you’re driving us crazy, get some sleep’.” He does air quotes at the end, coupled with a nasally voice that is clearly supposed to be an impersonation of one or both of them, despite sounding like literally no one Christian can identify.

“Which is?” he prompts.

“Buckle up, let it happen, and pretend it was my idea all along.”

Christian snorts. “Seriously?”

Eric gives him an easy smile. “Yeah, dude. I feel like things tend to turn out better than people think they will. If it’s gonna happen, might as well try to enjoy it.”

Christian considers it for a moment. “That was...actually pretty astute of you.”

“I’m an astute guy,” Eric says, affronted. “I don’t get why people are always surprised.”

“Last week Fernando had to pull up the Wikipedia page for narwhals to get you to understand they actually do exist.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

Christian can’t help it: he loses it. It starts with a quiet exhale of a chuckle, and at the look of mild outrage on Eric’s face, graduates into genuine, snorting laughter—a sudden, raw catharsis of all the frustration and relief and anxiety and overwhelming emotion, all at once.

He has to pull over on the side of the highway and throw the car into park once his eyes are watering too much to see the road clearly. He immediately proceeds to start laughing harder when Eric, sounding faintly worried, says, “So, my instinct is that laughter is good? But my other instinct is, like, maybe I did irreversible damage to your psyche and you are not okay.”

Christian attempts to respond, snorts inelegantly, and just covers his face with a breathless squeak of a laugh that dissolves into silent half-hiccups.

Eric doesn’t look any less concerned. “Aria’s gonna be  _ really _ mad if you just straight-up lost your whole mind because I helped you get in touch with your emotions for all of five seconds.”

Wiping tears from his eyes, Christian makes a valiant effort to squelch the laughter, focusing on breathing instead of on what a goddamn mess he is.

“Like, I was given explicit instructions  _ not _ to push you on emotional stuff, so if I fucked up you gotta do me a solid and not mention anything—”

“What?” Christian finally manages to say, still breathless but sobering quickly. “Aria told you not to talk to me about  _ emotional stuff?” _

Eric looks relieved. “Oh, okay, good, you’re good, thank god.” He shrugs. “Yeah, Aria and ‘nando. You know, sappy stuff, anything super affectionate—uh, feelings, kind of, in general—”

“Seriously?  _ Why?” _

Eric does a moderately more exaggerated shrug. “I mean, I almost got shot in the face and you responded by  _ getting mad at me about it _ because you couldn’t process the idea of caring about any of us?”

Christian opens his mouth to protest. Closes it. Finally lets out a huff. “Alright, yeah, that was admittedly not, uh, not the way to handle that particular communication issue,” he admits.

“Zero out of five stars at that Communication Station,” Eric says cheerfully enough.

Christian readjusts himself and pulls back onto the highway. “I’m sorry,” he says once they’re back up to speed, and,  _ god _ , he means it. “I’ve been a dick.”

_ “Total _ dick,” Eric agrees, nodding, and laughs when Christian furrows his brow at him. “Just being supportive!”

“Thanks,” Christian says dryly.

“Thank  _ you,” _ Eric replies, and then his expression goes softer, a little more serious. “Seriously. For apologizing. We all figured you’ve just been working through some shit, but it’s good to know for sure that I didn’t do something to actually piss you off, or you weren’t just, like.” He scrunches his nose, waving a hand in a meandering gesture that clarifies absolutely nothing. “Getting sick of us, starting to resent the whole ‘team’ thing and thinking about bailing, whatever.”

_ “What? _ Really?”

Eric goes faintly pink and turns practically his entire body to look out the passenger’s side window, as if embarrassed. “ I mean— I dunno. You’re not the only one who’s got fears, you know?”

“Eric,” Christian says, waiting until Eric stops more or less hiding his face like an embarrassed kid to continue. “Listen. This...crime club thing we have going—you and Fernando and Aria and me? It’s almost insufferable.”

Eric blinks in surprise. “Whoa, okay—”

“I don’t get to make my own schedule, I can’t choose all my own jobs, and I have to compromise constantly. We all spend  _ way _ too much time together, which means I know how Aria and Fernando bicker like a married couple about  _ everything, _ all the time, and how  _ you _ don’t know how to go to bed before four in the morning without threat of violence. Aria’s obsessive and Fernando’s overly performative and you don’t just think outside the box; you think outside the whole solar system. If we were parts of an algorithm, we wouldn’t  _ work. _ It’s a wonder we manage to accomplish anything.”

Eric’s expression is a pretty even mixture of shock and offense. “Alright,  _ hey—” _

“But,” Christian continues, “we  _ do _ accomplish shit. Maybe we don’t mesh on paper, but in reality? I’m so in-tuned with you guys I feel like I don’t even need to use words sometimes. I don’t get to make all my decisions on my own anymore, but honestly? Aria knows better than I do about where to go and what targets to hit and what to take and how to do it. He’s obsessive and that has saved our asses more times than I can count. He’s organized and ready for virtually anything, and he knows how to make us work best as a team. I have to do things I don’t want to do. It sucks. I complain about it. But it’s  _ good _ . He pushes me to try things I never would’ve considered if it were up to just me. I’m learning more and doing more and reaching potentials I didn’t even know were  _ there _ , and that’s because of him.”

Eric somehow looks more surprised than before. “Christian—”

“Him and Fernando bicker and argue and discuss shit constantly, but I’ve never seen two people complement each other better. They keep each other in check and the trust I can see between them has made it  _ so much _ easier to trust all of you. I wouldn’t want anyone before you three having my back in whatever situation we’ve gotten ourselves in. Fernando’s dramatic and always performing and over-the-top, and honestly? It’s impossible not to feel more confident when he’s around. I’ve seen him pull you into the spotlight when you’ve wanted it and divert attention away from you when you’ve gotten overwhelmed. I’ve seen him do the same for Aria. He’s done the same for me. He can become best goddamn friends with any random person walking down the street and that’s been  _ invaluable _ to our heists.”

As Christian bulldozes through what has, admittedly, been on his mind for a while, Eric’s expression changes to a delighted sort of softness. He’s smiling in fond exasperation when he tries, again, “Christian.”

“Half the time I can barely keep up with your train of thought,” Christian’s saying, too far in to stop now, despite the warmth in his cheeks and the flustered rush of the words he’s trying to force out. “You say things and they come from  _ so far _ out of left field it’s like they came from a baseball diamond on Mars. But goddamn if that isn’t  _ exactly _ what we need to get us unstuck when we can’t see the solution to something. You have this way of looking at the world that lets you see answers other people can’t. Hell, you’ve changed how  _ I _ try to look at the world, how I confront problems. You’ve got energy and encouragement to spare and you refuse to give up on the shit that matters and you just—” Christian breaks off and sighs out a laugh. “You’re still new to this, you know? Like a kid on Christmas about the kind of stuff I think the rest of us have started to take for granted: the traveling and nice cars and crashing parties we don’t belong in. I see you just— _ beaming, _ taking in these experiences, and it’s like I’m experiencing them for the first time again. You make me remember why I love doing this.”

_ “Christian,” _ says Eric, and he says it forcefully enough this time that Christian finally pauses.

“What?”

Eric’s smile is  _ blinding. _ “Well, first of all, you missed our exit—”

“Oh, shit.”

“—like, a  _ while _ ago—”

_ “Shit!” _

“Second of all,” Eric continues, steadying himself against the inside of the door as Christian does an extended illegal maneuver comprised of several smaller illegal maneuvers, “I’m sorry, except also kind of not sorry at all, but I definitely recorded a good ninety-five percent of that on my phone.”

_ “Hey, _ no, absolutely not, that is  _ not _ for sharing, that is for— _ forgetting, _ in fact, I’m demanding you brain dump everything I just said.”

Eric looks gleeful. “No can do, Christian, sorry!”

“You forget half the shit Aria tells you!”

“Yeah, but that’s mostly just  _ boring _ stuff, like  _ ‘Put your money in a savings account for god’s sake,’ _ or  _ ‘No, we can’t do a heist involving Cirque Du Soleil, what would even be the point of that, what do you mean you want to learn silk acrobatics, I’m not running a fucking heist on Cirque Du Soleil just because you think the acrobats are cool.’ _

Christian manages to get the car headed back in the right direction towards their intended exit and looks over at Eric with an eyebrow raised. “Really?”

_ “Really, _ Christian. Imagine the neat shit I could do for heists if I learned aerial silk acrobatics!”

“Neat shit like  _ what?” _

Eric pauses, then flaps a hand dismissively at him. “Like— Too much shit to even begin to explain, okay, just trust me. If you help me get Aria on board with this, I will be indebted to you for the rest of time.”

Christian snorts. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try my best.”

Eric murmurs a celebratory  _ hell yeah _ and stretches as much as he’s able to inside the car. “Anyway,” he adds, “last thing I wanted to say was we all care about you, too.”

Christian can’t help but smile, surprised to find that the reassurance is more warming than panic-inducing. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, absolutely. We love you a lot.”

Never mind,  _ nope, _ never mind, definitely panic-inducing, this has become a Potential Panic Scenario.  _ “What?” _

Eric doesn’t look bothered. “Relax. I know that’s, like, a Level Ten Emotion and you’re still on Level Five, it’s okay, don’t freak out.”

“Who’s freaking out? I’m not freaking out.” His voice has  _ always _ been this high, thank you.

“You’re driving between two lanes right now.” Eric continues over Christian’s muttered swearing to add, “Seriously, it’s okay. You don’t need to do anything with that information, nobody’s gonna try to marry you tomorrow, nothing’s any different now than it was before I said it.” Eric falls quiet for a moment, looking thoughtful, and leans back in his seat comfortably. “I just wanted to make sure you knew. In case you start leveling up those emotions.”

Christian doesn’t say anything for a while and Eric doesn’t prompt him, apparently content to sit in a silence that feels a lot warmer than the last.

After some time, Christian nods to himself and speaks up. “Eric?” 

“Hm?”

“Thanks.”

The broad smile in Eric’s tone is clear as the sky they’re driving under. “Anytime, Christian.”

“And Eric?”

“Yeah?”

“You have  _ got _ to run some practice drills for disarming quicker.”

Eric groans and slumps down in the seat. “Oh, c’mon!”

“I’m serious. Look, you made me embrace all these new, sappy, caring feelings; now you have to live with the consequences. I’m making sure your ass stays alive long enough for you to retire so you can, I don’t know, move to Cancun and spend your money recklessly on shit you don’t need until you die surrounded by piles of money and expensive cars at a hundred years old.”

Eric's smiling again.  _ “Aww,” _ he coos. “That’s exactly what my retirement plan is. You really  _ do _ care.”

Christian rolls his eyes and finally spots their exit. “I’ll make you a deal. If you never use that creepy, sappy voice ever again, I’ll stop at the first fast food place I see once we’re off the exit ramp.”

“You know, that’s tempting,” Eric says, “but I did actually think ahead for once.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I grabbed some ‘Dramatic Getaway’ Snacks before we hit the road earlier.” He twists around in his seat until he's facing the back of the car. “Or, well, I guess they’re more like ‘Aftermath of Sappy Monologue’ Snacks now.”

“Excuse you, that was raw emotion from the goddamn heart. Have some respect.” Christian fights the urge to crane his neck back to see what the hell Eric's doing. 

For a minute, there's just the sound of zippers being tugged and duffle bags being shoved around, and then cellophane starts crackling as Eric rights himself in the seat.

Christian's eyebrows rocket up.  _ “Swiss Rolls?” _ he demands, incredulous.

“Mm,” Eric responds in affirmation, mouth full.

“When the fuck did you find time to hit up a vending machine in the middle of a high-stakes heist?”

Eric swallows noisily. "I'd give you an honest answer, but you’d probably end up lecturing me about priorities. Again."

Christian considers that, sighs deeply, and thumps his head back against the headrest a few times as if to demand answers from his brain as to why, exactly,  _ this _ was one of the people his previously undiscovered affections decided to attach themselves to.

Eric looks over at him, the mildly concerned expression on his face marred somewhat by the way he's sucking chocolate off his fingers. "I have more, if you want one," he offers generously.

Christian looks at Eric fondly. He’s got chocolate on his hands and the sun on his face and, hell, on second thought, maybe this isn’t a bad place to let his affections grow.

Still, on principle Christian shakes his head and makes a face. “Yeah, no, I'm good. Those things are so artificial it actually hurts all my new feelings a little.”

Eric flips him off cheerfully. “They're delicious.”

"They could probably survive a nuclear winter."

"More for me," Eric decides, tossing the wrapper into Christian's lap—frosting-smeared plastic landing on very expensive, expertly tailored pants, thank you, was that  _ really _ necessary—as he reaches back for another package. Not for the first time, Christian resists the urge to leave him on the side of the road.

But despite all the antics and teasing and arguing and general chaos, Christian thinks, all in all, he’s doing pretty okay. He’s got half a million dollars. He’s got an overtly suspicious sports car. He’s got Eric, happy and chocolate-stained and  _ alive  _ in the passenger seat. 

They’re a mile past the Oregon state line and they’ll be reunited with Aria and Fernando before the hour’s up—maybe a little longer, if he can’t convince Eric to delete that embarrassing monologue recording with words alone.

He’s doing just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> i've got a writing/inspiration blog [here](http://anarchetypal.tumblr.com) if you do the tumblr thing


End file.
